


A Myriad of One-Shots and Tidbits

by softmorts



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen, I won't write non-con and there are certain fetishes I won't go near, M/M, but if you have any requests hit me up, like I'll take suggestions as well, this is literally me spewing whatever comes out of my brain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-04 14:39:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4141587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softmorts/pseuds/softmorts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of short-ish drabbles that will contain pretty much anything that comes to mind. I apparently don't have the attention span to write anything longer (which pains me greatly), so this is how it must be.</p><p>Find me at praczovski.tumblr.com and if you have any requests hit me up! I won't write non-con and there are certain fetishes I won't go near but you might as well try.</p><p>If any of this is OOC I apologise with utmost sincerity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Security

    The night is clear and Will Graham stands upon his porch steps, gazing upwards into the night sky. Breath curls from his lips in the form of misty droplets wisping upwards into the atmosphere, and he watches it flow, watches it vanish like a fox into the night. He doesn't know how long he's been standing here, but he is awoken from his absent thoughts when Winston nudges his hand with a soft whine, tail waving gently from side to side, and Will looks down at the mutt. He smiles, and the dog pants back at him. Glancing upwards at the endless stars once more, he follows the dog inside, closing the door, feeling, not for the first time, an elated relief that he is in fact safe from the monstrosity known as Hannibal Lecter, or, more commonly, the Chesapeake Ripper.

    Looking over, he sees Winston stationed at his water bowl, a gentle whimper in his throat, staring at him. Will smiles and fetches the bowl, running the cold tap until it's cold enough to use. Winston's body sways with anticipation, the dog's ears pricked up, as he steps back and allows Will to place the bowl back where it belongs. Winston takes a long drink from the bowl as Will observes, leaned back against the sink, and then returns to the pack who have already settled for the night. Will doesn't suppose he'll sleep soon tonight either, but he doesn't mind. He's with his pack, he's safe, there's nothing he has to worry about, for now.

    Will Graham, for the first time in months, is finally happy.


	2. Willton - Touch (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I got carried away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear. I couldn't resist. Sometimes I shame myself, I fear. This chapter is Explicit.

    Will traces the contours of Frederick's neck with his tongue, taking in the flavour of his musk and sweat, a delicious mix of salt and a taste that can only be described as  _his_. Frederick looks absolutely debauched; his hair, usually in such impeccable form, is tousled and damp with sweat, and his lips are parted, barely-contained moans hidden behind breathless exclamations of lust. And oh, but is it a sight to behold. Will pulls back to admire his handiwork, and Frederick's heavy-lidded, glazed eyes meet his.

    "Will, please, I need you," Frederick moans, all hope for retaining any dignity or rational thought lost with his clothing. He moans again and rolls his hips upwards when Will swoops down to press their mouths together, driven to desperation by a long period of teasing, his climax held just out of reach every time he attempts to grasp it. Will drives his tongue into his mouth; their breaths mix in a glorious symphony of hormones and lust, both chasing the inevitable high that awaits them. His lover pulls back, a strand of saliva connecting them waveringly before it snaps, and Will moves down Frederick's body to mouth at his leaking cock. The older man barely has time to breathe out a "fuck" before Will's mouth envelops his straining member, and he cries out with the sheer force of the sensation. He's already so close that just barely a minute later, he comes with the firm pressing of Will's fingers on his perineum, his load coating his stomach and lower chest.

    Will moves towards him, a growl escaping from behind his teeth, as their lips meet with force, sloppy kisses being exchanged as Will thrusts rhythmlessly against him, grinding down on his hips, searching desperately for his own release. Frederick tugs on his lip as his hand finds his member, expertly pulling and flicking his wrist, and Will cries against his lips as his body finally gives him what he needs. He collapses against Frederick, both their chests heaving, the younger man raising his head to press their lips together once more as Frederick's hands stroke soothingly up and down his spine, the repeated motions relaxing him. It is like this that they not long after succumb to the loving embrace of sleep.


	3. Willton Pre-Slash (Implied) - A Burden Shared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes a familiar face is needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of two drabbles I wrote at like two in the morning, when I couldn't sleep and we had no Wi-Fi. Enjoy.

    The night is quiet, the stars alive and bright, a lonely house the only ship on a sea of darkened fields. A dog's barking echoes, followed by a chorus of yips and playful snarls. A man calls them back, and in a flurry of pawprints and flying fur they enter the house. The light spilling from inside is cut off as the door closes; moths, now aimless, flit back into the night to find another object of interest. In the still night, two headlights pierce the darkness like cat's eyes, searching, searching, and they find the little house-boat on the sea of fields.

    The car slows, red paint glinting from the light of the house's windows, and comes to a halt, the lights dying as the engine is switched off. The driver's door swings open, and a silver-tipped cane gripped by a tight fist finds the ground, followed by two marginally unsteady feet in a pair of expensive shoes - too expensive, perhaps, given that they are now firmly planted in muck.

    The owner of the car, the cane, and the shoes treads slowly to the door, unsure, and hesitates to knock, stopping as if to reconsider. He raises his fist anyway, and brings it down hard once, twice, thrice, on the wood, awakening a chorus of barking that only ceases when a shadow approaches from inside. The door opens to reveal a scruffy, tired looking man with stubble on his face and bags under his eyes, in a plain grey t-shirt and shorts. He stares for a second, taking the other man in, before stepping aside with a gesture for the man to enter. He does so, gratefully, and the dogs swarm around him, sniffing hands, cane, shoes - they'll take anything with a new scent.

    "Frederick." He turns to the other man's voice, watching as the other man observes him, not quite surprised to see him, but not expecting him, either. "Nightmares?"

    Frederick nods, once, a curt gesture, before averting his eyes and looking back at the dogs. He isn't the man he once was; the bullet through his face had not just marred his face, it had marred his pride as well. Will had said once that he didn't look so bad as he thought. He isn't sure how to interpret that.

    "I'm sorry to bother you, Will, I just... I needed to see a friendly face."

    Will tips his head in acknowledgement, says nothing. It's an unspoken agreement between them now; they frequently stay in each other's company to stave off the whispered threats of a man who still haunts the darkened recesses of their minds. It's the only way to hold on to the last tattered remnants of their sanity.

    Will lets out a breath, shifts.

    "I'll set up the spare room."


	4. Post-Takiawase - Preller - Spectres

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a year, almost, and it still hurts like hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to Spectres, by Aviators, and this is what happened.
> 
> Song here:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jdCbSBggHgE

    It's been a year.

    Brian realises a week before the anniversary, and for a second he swears his heart has stopped. He drops his scalpel, and it lands between the ribs of the newest unfortunate autopsy subject. He blinks, shaking his head, and retrieves it, pretending not to notice the look of concern that he's attracted from Jimmy. He gets on with the job in hand, ignoring the voice in his head that sounds just like  _her_. It still hurts, the pain never faded. He's just learned to deal with it.

    He thinks.

    Later, as they're sitting on the couch watching some reality TV show they couldn't give less of a shit about, Jimmy finally breaks the silence, his voice soft.

    "What happened, Bri? Earlier in the lab?"

    He knows, of course; they both know that, but sometimes asking is the best approach. Brian shakes his head, a sad smile crossing his features.

    "It'll be a year on Monday, Jim. It'll be a year since he took her from us." He looks away, eyes distant, and runs a hand over his face. Jimmy watches him, sees his mouth curling down at the corners, sees his eyes welling up and his lower lip trembling, sees the muscles in his shoulders trembling with the effort to hold back his sorrow and pain.

    Jimmy sits up and pulls Brian down into his arms, shifting so he's laying on top of him, holding him close as he shudders with anguish.

    "It shouldn't have happened like that, Jim, it wasn't right, why didn't she wait for us?" His voice barely escapes, only a sorrowed whisper. "How can it have been a year when it still hurts so fucking much?" Brian's voice cracks on the last syllable; his shoulders quake from the effort of choking back his sobs.

    Jimmy considers his answer. He finds he can't come up with anything that'll really ease the pain. "It... it never really stops, Bri," he mumbles, softly. "It's best just to let it all out." He shifts to make them both more comfortable, and pulls Brian closer, holding him as the tears start to stream from his screwed-shut eyes. He rubs his back, gently, leans into his hair.

    It's like that, holding onto one another, that they eventually drift off into sleep.


End file.
